


delicate

by abscission



Series: the sky is blue and I love you [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Lance (Voltron), Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission
Summary: “I was going to keep this quiet, but you force my hand,” Zarkon said, and silence fell over the hall. “You are stripped of your title. You are banished from the empire. Guards, get him out of my sight.”For whumptober day 6: dragged away. Heavily AU.





	delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Why is Lance here? Time-travel AU shenanigans.

The great doors of the throne room slammed open. General Thral paused in her prepared debrief of the recent frontier expansion effort; every head turned. In the shadow of the throne, two Galra that always followed Haggar detached themselves and disappeared behind the towering pillars.

Lance took it all in from his position among the generals, and made a mental note to arrange an _unfortunate accident_ for the druid outpost in his sector of space.

A white-haired figure tumbled through the doors and Lance’s heart sank.

“Get away from me!” Lotor screamed, hysterical, catching his fall, then surged upright and further into the hall, away from reaching hands of two figures behind him. They followed no past the double doors, and both dropped to their knees at the edge of the carpet. “Father, what is the meaning of this?”

Lotor scanned the gathered generals with wild swings of his head. “Which one of you put them up to this?” He swept a clawed hand to the kneeling druids at the doors. “Which one?!”

Druids were not allowed in the throne room. They made Emperor’s Zarkon’s generals nervous, and it was only to stymie a mutiny that he compromised by imposing that restriction on the High Priestess’ forces.

Lotor’s hair was unkempt and there were singe marks on his armor. Had the druids attacked Lotor? But the two of them had talked about it. The solution to throwing druid spies off his tail wasn’t to bring it to _court_— What was Lotor planning?

The generals did not speak, but the ministers further down the dais burst into a flurry of whispers. Zarkon leaned on his throne, chin propped on a hand. He hadn’t shifted for the five dobashes they had held the war council, and he did not shift now.

“I was going to keep this quiet, but you force my hand,” Zarkon rumbled, and silence fell over the hall. “You are stripped of your title. You are banished from the empire. Guards, get him out of my sight.”

The emperor’s dais was five steps removed from the main floor of the throne room, and the generals stood on the third step, the closest to Zarkon after Haggar, who occupied a whole step. It meant whoever came seeking an audience would have to look _up_, and because this is Galra, everything is oversized, and so now Lotor seemed to _crane_ upwards, like a plant seeking the sun.

Lance kicked away the squirming in his chest. Lotor had always looked up to Zarkon. It was no different in the world he left behind; that Lotor might have killed his father, but for so long he had simply wanted Zarkon’s approval that when the world came crashing down around them, Lotor confessed he had only been able to kill Zarkon _because _he had become a shambling quintessence-fueled zombie. _Nothing of my father was left_, he said, faraway stars reflected in his eyes as civil war tore apart the universe, _and that made swinging the blade easy. _Then, with a strange wistfulness, _Father would have had no such compunctions against killing _me_, I’m sure._

Lance never wanted that hypothesis tested, but here he stood, a member of Zarkon’s trusted generals, Allura’s marks on his cheeks, the Lancer of the Frontier, and unable to lift a finger in the prince’s defense as the druid-assassins swept forwards.

They descended on Lotor like raptors on a wounded deer.

Lotor howled in rage and struck back. The druids wove around his figure and clasped chains on his wrists and arms.

The sounds of the conflict was strangely magnified in the vast hall. No one spoke, no one moved, no one dared look away.

Lotor's curtain of white hair hung, lank, obscuring his face. His shoulders heaved, and Lance forced himself to keep watching. Did the Lotor in the world he left behind struggle like this when _he _was banished? The figure at the feet of the dais was so incongruent with Lance’s memory of Lotor that he had to wonder. Did his interference in Galra affairs affect something?

“Father,” Lotor rasped, and Lance’s heart clenched, “Father, _please—”_

“I said, _out of my sight_.” Zarkon slammed a fist on the arm of his throne, the sound reverberating across the space. The druids pulled on the chains with renewed vigour, and Lotor fell on his back with a small gasp.

On the threshold of the throne room, Lotor’s desperate gaze swept the hall again, and this time, they sought out Lance’s and locked there. Lance held his breath, unsure whether he wanted Lotor to call out to him for help or stay silent and the sheer _hope_ that shone in them — in that moment, Lance would’ve thrown away everything he had cultivated in Zarkon’s command if Lotor called out, he was sure — the great doors slammed shut.

Lance’s hand curled into a fist, then he consciously relaxed. _It’s alright, _he thought fiercely, _I’ll find you._

**Author's Note:**

> the title is taken from letskey's [delicate](https://open.spotify.com/track/4zqqGirSqBJk4ZYQ3QHgNg) and has, therefore, everything to do with my mood and nothing to do with the fic's content. _sigh._
> 
> also shamelessly back-dated to make things look pretty. originally posted: 14/10/2019


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